Shelter from the Storm
by ResidentGoth
Summary: REPOST. For once, someone who knows everything he's done, and isn't afraid of him. Has no judgement against him at all, really. She saved his life, something he wasn't sure he could have done for her, and for that he knew he would be forever grateful. It was just that showing it would be more of a challenge than feeling it. AU, Malfoy/OC. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.


**SO, this is my first HP fanfiction… been into it since before I hit double digits, and I wanted to write for it now. Biggest fandom I've written for to date, so please don't be too harsh. I haven't watched the movies or read the books in a while and all my fact checking is done through the Harry Potter Wiki. Like I said, been a lil' bit outta touch with the HP fandom so I apologize if this is a little OOC for Draco dearest. **

**Updates are going to be as the chapters are written, and I'm planning on keeping this less than seven chapters. **

**WARNINGS: (mostly in later chapters) Sexual content, violence, language, character death, and minor whump.**

**I don't own HP. JK Rowling (aka the God of Writing) does. I mean no infringement, this is for entertainment purposes only. **

**Please PLEASEEE review. It's much appreciated. **

**Enjoy! **

**I actually posted this last night, but went back and found it had a lot of errors, so I deleted it and edited it. **

**BTW: Title quirk is from the Dylan song of the same name. I don't own that either.**

* * *

I couldn't breathe.

Seawater filled my lungs, the current tossing me back and forth like a rag doll in a cyclone. My body had long since become fatigued; my arms and legs like lead weights strapped to a limp, emaciated torso. Another wave came crashing down over my head and everything went black.

I was going to die.

xxxx

It was storming to beat the band outside, and for some reason Ulysses wanted out. This is, of course, strange for a cat, especially one as old as he was. I looked up from my book to frown at him over my glasses and stood, crossing the small, cluttered sitting room to pick him up from the window sill and set him by the fire. As I scooped him up and took a step away, an enormous bolt of lightning flashed and illuminated something lying just at the edge of the water. I peered at the spot and gasped in horror when another flash of lightning confirmed my fears.

It was a body.

I dropped Ulysses and snatched my wand from its place on the mantle, tearing out the door into the maelstrom outside. The rain beat and tore at my skin and my clothes, the wind pushing me back a step for every two that I took. After much trying and determination, I finally reached the limp form lying facefirst on the sand. I dragged him out of the waves and took stock of him as best I could. Maybe twenty four or so, not much of an age difference from myself, and haggard at first glance; pale, almost too pale, with messy, white blonde hair and a straight nose. He was wearing a soaked, and probably ruined black pinstripe suit, and tucked inside the left lapel of the suit jacket was a black wand with a fine-looking silver-gilted handle.

I shook him a little and shouted at him, though whether or not he heard me over the noise of the storm I never knew. He wasn't breathing, to my alarm, but he did have a very faint heartbeat.

I pointed my wand at his half-parted lips and murmured, "_Anapneo_". A jet of water tumbled out of his mouth and he stirred a little, coughing and sputtering. His eyelids fluttered up a little and then sank back down, and he slumped down with his face squished awkwardly against my thigh.

Who was he, and why had he washed up on the shore in the middle of a thunderstorm like this one?

I shook my head and shifted a little, tossing his left arm over my shoulder.

"Alright, then, you're not going to die on me tonight, no sir." With that I heaved him up onto my shoulder and dragged him back to the house.

He weighed less than I thought he would, and thus wasn't as hard to carry back. When I had reentered the safety of the cottage, I took him into the guest room and carefully laid him up on the bed. He was shivering by now, which was a good sign, meaning his body was trying to conserve heat.

I gently brushed the dripping white blonde hair from his face and began to shuck off his clothes, layer by layer until he was down to just his shorts. There was an odd scar on his left arm that caught my attention. I couldn't quite make it out in the darkness, so I left it alone. But as my fingertips traced its very outline, I felt a rush like someone had opened the door into the storm outside, and a density in the air that could only mean one thing. Even though I had barely touched him, I felt it all from him, everything he felt and had been through, and my heart broke for him a little. To have to do such a thing, and to put so much at risk just for the sake of his family…

The barrage stopped and I stood above him, catching my breath, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. With a sigh I murmured a quick, almost childish wish that he wouldn't wake up and murder me. I doubted he would, he seemed so much changed now from the spoiled brat he'd been, but nowadays you couldn't tell. He rolled over and gathered the sheets around him, muttering something about his mother and father…

Gathering up his wet clothes in a pile, I left him to sleep and wake up when he would.

Two or three hours later, I heard Ulysses yowling from inside the bedroom and went to investigate. As it happened, I opened the door just in time to see the blonde stranger shove the cat off of his chest and stalk across the distance between us, crossing the space in three long strides.

"Who the hell are you and what do you think you're doing with me almost naked in your bed back there?" He demanded, with all the shock and confusion I expected from someone in his situation.

I made eye contact with him and was met with dark grey eyes that blazed fury.

I took a breath and replied succinctly: "I would thank you not to assault me after I saved your life earlier." My voice was rising, and I had to work to keep my temper under control. "You literally washed up on the sand out there, and if I hadn't happened to look up at the moment I did, the surf would have pulled you back in and you would have drowned. You had seawater in your lungs, and if I hadn't already known what to do about that then you would be dead. But I did, and I carried you back here and laid you up so you could rest. And yes, I took your clothes but only so they could dry." He was glaring at me by now, and I matched it ounce for ounce as I pointed towards the drying rack in front of the fire.

He shot another look at me before barging past and snatching up a fistful of his pants and scrutinizing them. He must have decided they were not to his liking, as he dropped them and returned his attention to me.

"Muggles." He mumbled, low enough that he probably didn't think I could hear it.

But I did.

xxxx

It was soon clear that she heard me call her a Muggle, because she crossed the room as soon as the word passed my lips and reached for something on top of the mantle. My eyebrows rose in incredulity as she pulled down a medium length wand, perhaps ash or some other sort of light wood.

She flicked her wrist and my feet left the floor.

"Now," she continued, one eyebrow raised, "do I look like a Muggle to you… what's your name?"

"Draco Malfoy." I allowed.

She snorted. "A Malfoy? Wow, all the men I meet are stuck up pricks. Or have you changed?" Her voice changed a little on the last way, almost imperceptibly.  
I nodded, careful not to make a fool of myself.

"And if memory serves, you were there at the Battle of Hogwarts, weren't you?"

How did she know that? "Yes. What difference does it make to you…?"

She flicked her wrist again and I dropped to the floor. Another flick and my clothes were dry and folded on the settee. "Eileen."

Her accent was… different. American, specifically. I ran over a thousand different remarks in my mind, just to make her talk more. "You didn't answer the question."

She paused, as if to decide what to say next. "No, I guess I didn't. To be perfectly honest it doesn't make a bit of difference to me, I was just wondering if the papers had got it right about you."

"What do you mean, the papers? There hasn't been anyone from the Prophet to see me or any of my associates. What the hell are you talking about?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I was in London around the time of the Battle of Hogwarts. Stayed there for a month and then came back here. You should get dressed. There's shaving cream and a razor in the bathroom if you need it. Down the hall, to the left. And your wand is on the dresser in there." She pointed back to the guest room. I nodded, utterly bewildered, and scooped the clothes up, slipping into the bathroom without another word.

Of one thing I was completely positive.

She was lying.

And she was a madwoman.

xxxx

He looked like he was hopelessly lost, the poor thing. I guess I couldn't really blame him, as I hadn't really been all that clear with him. Well, at any rate, I went into the bedroom, tidying up rather absent-mindedly, trying to push him out of my head, but to no avail. I straightened from making the bed and turned to leave, only to find him lurking there in the doorway, dressed thankfully, and watching me raptly. The look on his face was almost calculating, and frankly it set me on edge.

"Can I help you with something? Maybe get you a house elf to wait on you hand and foot?" I asked, perhaps a little more snappishly than I meant to.

He jerked out of his thoughts and glared at me. "No, I'm fine, thank you very much."

I bit my tongue and pulled the coverlet up, then the duvet, and folded the comforter at the foot of the bed. I could feel him watching me and it sent shivers down my back and legs when I peeked over at him and thought his expression had softened into something that might have been regret. Or maybe just weariness. It was hard to tell.

He sighed. Dreamily, almost. And the startling thing was that it was attractive. I shuddered at the thought and said nothing.

"So where am I, since it's painfully obvious that I'm not at home?"

I was surprised he didn't make another snide comment. "You're not really anywhere specific, I'm afraid. You're in America, as you've probably already figured out. About forty miles from the nearest Muggle town. In the state of North Carolina." I glanced up and met his eyes. "That answer your question good enough?"

His hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets and he wouldn't break eye contact. "It does." His stomach growled suddenly, breaking the tense silence that had grown up.

"Come on," I said, taking his arm and pulling him into the small kitchen. "You need to eat."

xxxx

Her grip on my arm was needlessly tight. She led me into a small kitchen and pushed me towards a tabletop heaped with clutter, and for the first time I noticed the smell of herbs and spices, which seemed to emanate from a large pot on the small stove. Outside it was still raining, and she bustled about, conjuring up a loaf of fresh bread and pulling plates, silverware, and a mug from various cabinets. She set them in a stack on the counter and bustled past me, hurriedly clearing away books, papers, and even a basket of clothes from the small table by the window. She plunked the plate on the table along with the loaf of bread and the mug, now filled with drink of some sort. She handed me a spoon, and I looked down to see the plate filled with thick, hearty beef stew and mashed potatoes. Another glance in her direction revealed she had left the room. The food was good, and the tea was briskly cold and very sweet, also good. At least she could cook. That helped make up for her oddness some. But only a little.

She was a strange one, that… what did she say her name was? I couldn't remember. I shook my head and ate silently, occasionally accompanied by a large tabby cat I assumed was hers.

As I ate I found myself wondering what I had gotten myself into. The last thing I remembered was sitting in a tea shop in Diagon Alley, having tea and debating buying a new broomstick, since my old Quidditch one was lost in the fires at Hogwarts. I was reading over an article in the Prophet, something about the bridge that had been destroyed by the Dark Lord at the beginning of the Second Wizarding War being newly rebuilt or repaired or what have you. I was being morbid, yes, and wondering what it would be like to drown. The next thing I was aware of was briny saltwater in my lungs and waves crashing over my head.

I couldn't explain it.

I finished the plate and pushed the chair back, staring blankly out the window, brooding over how I got myself into this mess. After a while she came back into the kitchen, humming quietly to herself and putting away things. I turned my focus away from the window and watched her closely again, drinking in every detail of her.

She was close to my height, maybe a few centimeters shorter than I, and fair skinned. Thick auburn hair, held back in a loose bun that was coming undone a little, hanks of hair falling limply around her face. Hazel eyes, lithe, clean hands. I had to admit, she was attractive. Perhaps not gorgeous, but attractive nonetheless. She was wearing a pair of torn, well-worn jeans, a grey top with a dark plaid flannel over it with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a beaten-up pair of black Converse trainers.

When she bent down, the hem of her blouse rode up and I could see what looked like burn scars on her back and sides. I wanted to ask but I dared not let on that I was looking at her. She'd already caught me staring once.

She would be hard to figure out, this one.

But it wasn't like I didn't want to, strange as it may sound.

I stood up from the table and realized with some disbelief that I couldn't stop watching her.

"I'm sorry," I began, a bit awkwardly, "But I can't remember what your name is. I'm rubbish with them." That was a lie. I just had been paying attention. I wanted her to look at me and speak.

She straightened and arched an eyebrow. "Eileen Garrison."

"Eileen. Right." The word rolled off my tongue, and it sounded… natural. "It's lovely." I added before I could stop myself.

She smiled, not unkindly. "You think so?" She made no sound as she crossed the room and cleared my dishes off the table.

"Yeah." I answered quietly. Her cheeks colored a fraction, almost as if she wasn't used to such compliments.

She dropped the dishes in the sink and turned the handle of the faucet, proceeding to do the dishes in what I could only assume was the Muggle way, hand washing each one carefully.

"Do you want help?" I asked. _Why did I do that? She's got it handled. _

_Right?_

"Yeah." She handed me a dripping handful of silverware and a dish rag. "Dry these."

I gave her a look. "Why don't you just use magic? I mean, you are a witch, right?"

She smiled wryly. "I am, thank you, but I like doing things with my hands. And since I live alone it gives me something to do."

Well, then.

"But enough about me. Do you have any explanation as to why you suddenly washed upon the shore like something out of a Muggle novel?"

I frowned. No, I didn't. "It's hard to explain."

"Mmhmm." She nodded and pushed her sleeves up farther, scrubbing at a spot on the bowl in her hand. "Just answer me this: there aren't going to be people showing up on my doorstep demanding a bounty on your head, are there?"

How close that had almost been to the truth. "No. There aren't."  
"Good. I just wanted to make sure."

There was silence until another crack of thunder split the air and rattled the small house.

She handed me the last dish and dried her hands on a second towel hanging from a hook on the wall.

"So how long are you going to stay here, since you're so far from home? Do you know anybody in America?" She left the kitchen and I followed her into the same sitting room as earlier. She dropped into an overstuffed armchair with dated upholstery and cat scratches on the arms. Her eyes bored into mine, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind.

"I don't know." I replied, honestly, gingerly sitting on an old beige couch across from the fireplace. "I don't know anyone in America. I mean, my father might, and I could get home, but…" I stopped myself from saying more before I rambled on too far.

"But what?" The tone of her voice was almost tender, as if she was wheedling me into continuing to talk.

"It's nothing." I wasn't going to tell her. She wouldn't want anything to do with me if I did.

"Well, it has to be something, otherwise you wouldn't say it's nothing."

I had to hand it to her, that was clever. I thought for a moment, debating telling her. She seemed like she already knew my whole life story, so maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. "How much do you know about me already, notwithstanding my name and my… what you said earlier."

xxxx

I studied him curiously as he hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands, seemingly exhausted.

"How much do you know about me already, aside from my name and my… what you said earlier."

I didn't answer at first. Instead I picked at a loose thread on the arm of the chair.

"You're not going to believe me when I tell you." I said finally.

He shot me a vile look. "Try me."

I sighed. "You asked for it."

Xxxx

"I know… things." She said quietly. "Things… about people."

I picked my head up and listened intently, staring fixedly at the grate in the fireplace. "What kinds of things?"

She sighed. "Did you take Divination classes in school?"

I nodded.

"It's similar to that… you never paid much attention to them did you? The Divination classes, I mean."

It took effort to mask the surprise I felt. "No."

"I thought so." She untied the trainers' laces and dropped them on the floor unceremoniously, following this by peeling the socks from her feet and wiggling her varnished toes experimentally.

She turned her eyes back at me, and it looked almost like her hazel eyes were on fire, and there was an odd light that radiated from around her, or was I projecting onto her because I thought her attractive?

Her pale pink lips opened and I heard my life's story hitherto spill forth as if she were reading it from a book.

When she finished, she sat there quietly and waited for me to speak.

I couldn't, though. I was reeling. I stood and walked unsteadily to the door, staring blankly out the frosted glass screen, more than a little shocked.

I could sense her behind me, and she said very softly: "I didn't ask to know all of this about you, Draco… if I can call you that."

"Yeah." I murmured, too lost in thought to really answer. Lightning flashed again, close to the little house, closely followed by a tumultuous peal of thunder, shaking the little house a second time.

At length I turned back to her, and found her still sitting in that torn-up armchair, looking at me—more like scrutinizing. She hadn't so much as flinched.

"Can you see anything else about me?" I asked shortly, turning back to watch the rain pour.

"No. Only what has happened to you up to our…" here she paused. "Meeting." She finally finished flatly.  
"You're not afraid of me?"

"No. Should I be?"

"I don't think so, no."

"You sound unsure of that."

I wanted to lose it and spit that she didn't know me, but she did. I bit my tongue and frowned.

"If you like, you can stay here as long as you need to." She offered

"That's hospitable." I muttered sarcastically.

"I try." She crossed the room towards me, leaning on the wall with her arms crossed. "So what'll it be?" Her eyes bore into me and I felt the heat rise in my veins. "Staying or not?"

"Staying." I conceded. "You know too much."

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**Thanks for reading! To my UK readers (if there are any), I'm American but I watch a lot of Doctor Who, and Britcoms, etc, and Downton Abbey, so I apologize deeply if I have magled the Queen's English. **

**Review! It won't hurt, I promise! :D**


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